


Godly Love

by minglingcrab



Series: Like a Box of Chocolates [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minglingcrab/pseuds/minglingcrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cathedral hopping while on honeymoon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Godly Love

**Author's Note:**

> The sexual interpretation of ["The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecstasy_of_Saint_Theresa) isn't mine, by the way.  And I should probably show you what the [painted ceiling at Sant'Ignazio](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cb/Sant'Ignazio_-_affresco_soffitto_-antmoose.jpg) looks like, too.  Oh, and I've never been to Rome, so if their impromptu touring is impractical...well, it's fiction, okay?

There isn’t any real reason that they chose Italy.

Kris had never been here, and they knew the names of more cities here than they did in France or Spain, and Adam has a pretty decent store of dirty Italian words.  That’s basically it.

Adam had had a very different idea in mind – had wanted to take Kris away to somewhere with a lot of sand a and lot of sun – somewhere completely cut off, where they could just be very, very naked together for as long as they could get away with before the label started having fits. 

“Honeymoon is such a weird word,” was all Kris said on the subject.  “Let’s call it something else.”

Kris wants to travel, though – he’s said it before, and Adam knows it, and he never consciously _abandons _his beach plans but – well – here they are in Rome.

They aren't using a tour guide or anything, because there’s no way they can commit themselves to someone else’s schedule, what with the constant sex breaks.  But they _are _in Italy, and whether or not either of them knows anything about Baroque sculpture or whatever, they are enlightened human beings, and completely ignoring the artistic history of the place in favor of the excellent room service would be kind of gauche.

So they tour for just a bit.  Kris even has a guide book.

“It’s about feeling…this infinite power,” he says, when they stand together looking up at the painted ceiling of the church of Sant’Ignazio.  It’s a blue, blue sky, and a swirling vortex of clouds and angels, but Kris doesn’t say anything about heaven.  Just…power.  They gaze for another few minutes and Adam sees it – the whole universe, drawing itself upwards.  He takes Kris’ hand, lines their fingers up, watches Kris’ face as Adam traces over the rough pads of his fingertips.  He knows that it’s supposed to make them feel small, feel humbled, looking up at that – knows because Kris told him, because it’s one of the details that Kris saw fit to share out of the ridiculously huge guide book – but he feels a lot more like they’re right at the center of it.

Kris probably feels humbled, though.

They’re church hopping, mainly, because that’s where the art is, and they’re probably taking a ridiculously inconvenient route around the city, because they don’t exactly know where they’re going.  It’s warm and sunny and light, and Kris has the guidebook and knows what he’s talking about – mostly – even if he isn’t Catholic; so even if the Jesus part isn’t anything more than a spectacle, for Adam, Kris distills the symbolism into ideas that mean something anyway.  Adam wonders what Kris would be saying if he’d come here with his family instead of with Adam – but Adam is family, too, now.

“Oh, I’ve heard of this one!”  Kris flips through the pages of the guidebook.  It isn’t a painting, this time, but a sculpture; Adam has already forgotten by whom, not that it would have meant very much to him to know.  There are two figures, one hooded and reclining, the other kneeling over the first with one arm drawn back.

“Here.  'The Ecstasy of St. Theresa_.'_”  He skims for a moment, and Adam peers upwards, tries to make out the details.

“It’s about her experience with an angel,” Kris says.  He reads the obligatory quote aloud: “_I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He–” _Kris stops to squint up at the sculpture.  Adam sees, now, that there’s a spear in the top figure’s hand.  Saint Theresa’s eyes are closed, her head thrown back, her mouth fallen gracelessly open.

Kris looks down at the guidebook.

“What?” Adam says, and Kris continues, his drawl slowing, growing more pronounced,

“_He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart and to pierce my very entrails.  When he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God.  The pain was so great, that it made me moan, and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it.”   
_

St. Theresa, Adam sees, is slumped sideways on one arm.  Kris is angling a look at Adam with a slight, unexpected smile.  “Of course _this_ is the one thing I know I’ve heard of,” he says.

“God as a porn star,” Adam agrees, because sometimes he just says words, even if they aren’t what he’s thinking.  Kris doesn’t lose his smile, and he shrugs, but – really, Adam knows it isn’t like that.  Of course, before he can say something less idiotic, he has a flash of insight, and his lips are moving and his voice is saying, “It’s interesting that there’s no kissing, though,” before his head has time to catch up.

Kris, quizzical, waits for him to go on.  Adam shrugs.  It isn’t all that deep.

“God doesn’t kiss her,” he says.  “I’ve heard that used as a metaphor before, but here, God–” he stops, because _fucks her soul _is a little crass, even for him.  “He’s the big thing to her,” Adam says finally, and Kris nods.  “And he takes her over, he overwhelms her, and it’s about _that_ more than–” Okay, now he’s actually lost himself.  But Kris says,

“No, I get it.  It isn’t about _them_; it’s about her, feeling Him inside her.”

Adam can hear the capital H, and that’s exactly it.  It isn’t _romantic_.  It's still dirty, though.  “It might just be because porn star God doesn’t do kissing,” Adam points out, and Kris chokes on a laugh and takes his hand and leads him outside because apparently _that _is where the line of _what is appropriate to say in church_ is drawn.

Kris kisses him when they hit the sidewalk, and between that and the holding hands in every church in Rome, Adam decides that they’re kind of sickeningly sappy together.

He also decides that he doesn’t care, and that he’s going to invent a new sexual position in honor of Saint Theresa, so _there’s_ a lasting benefit to come out of today.

“Where to next?” he asks. 


End file.
